Horrific Jokes and Twisted Clowns
by WickedArtist
Summary: Getting kidnapped at the bustop sure can spoil your day. Rated for gore, language, and other violent things. Some chapters are purely torture-separated frome everything else for our squeamish pals out there. No flaming, no pairings. Twisted Joker! Fini
1. Bus Stop Nightmare

A/N - Sadly, I do not own Batman, nor The Dark Knight, nor any of its characters and contents. Actually, it's probably a good thing; I'd trash the series with my awful plots. RIP, Heath Ledger.

I notice a lot of stories where people have their character (almost always a girl) kidnapped and 'tortured' by The Joker, and somehow not completely despising him for it. So I made this, where the main character is a dude. So that you all know what to expect, behavior-wise, I'm going to write a quick summary for you:

_James is a timid, pessimistic person. He has a tendancy to assume the worst will happen, and he is downright shocked whenever it does not. He has a tendancy to blame himself for everything, though he rarely admits how he feels about anything. Overall, he is extremely introverted, prefering solitude to people._

Now that that's out of the way, I want to clear up something else: I'm going to keep this character throughout the story, and he will not stray into being all, "HAPPY GOODNESS AND SUNSHINE!" I take staying IC very seriously. Call James emo if you wish; he probably could be considered emo by some circles. At the very least, I'm not gonna make him a Marty Stu, Gary Sue, whatever you want to call it.

So yeah, demented Joker and such and such. There ain't no pairings here! At least, I don't intend to make any. This ain't no romance, foo'! Please refrain from flaming; constructive critiscism is welcome. However, if you post a message like, _" u suk! G2H ur so stupid n shud die,"_ then... well, that's a flame. And it's a poorly written flame at that! If you don't like it, say what you don't like or just stop reading it.

O0O0O

Dark encompassed the city of Gotham. It wasn't really that late; it was only about seven PM. Nonetheless, the skies were cloudy and bleak, the light from the moon blocked out by several long, gray clouds. Walking down the street, a small backpack over his shoulder, was a boy. This boy wasn't what most people would call, 'stunningly handsome,' nor was he what others would call, 'hideously ugly.' He was average in every way, from his dark brown eyes to his nearly-black hair. It was such a dark brown that it almost looked black; under this poor lighting, it might as well have been black. He had a rather lanky build, and his clothes seemed like a school uniform of sorts; he was walking down the street in 'dressy' clothes—which included a red necktie and a black jacket and slacks.

"Damn, I'm gonna be late," he mumbled. No matter how he looked at it, he was going to miss his curfew: 7:15. He was at least twenty minutes from his house, and even though he doubted his parents would do anything for him being five minutes late, Gotham could be a dangerous place.

Truth be told, this boy, James, was what most people would call timid. He wasn't too excited about the prospect of getting mugged, or jumped, or really just confronted in general. Even for his age, he was rather short. He couldn't be any taller than five foot two, so he wasn't exactly intimidating. "C'mon, c'mon, that bus has to come by soon."

He walked to the bus stop, nervously shifting in place beneath the lamp. He wasn't too keen on going underneath the shelter the city had put up, seeing as there would be nowhere to run should he feel that to be a necessary option. Of all the places to be, Gotham was the worst for such a timid boy.

"C'mon, c'mon," he mumbled. "Hurry up, hurry up…"

To be honest, James despised going home at the end of the day. However, he also despised the thought of being shot, assaulted, or really just ambushed in general. In the end, catching a bus and taking it most of the way home was a far nicer idea than waiting to be shot or just walking six or seven miles to get home. Home was the place where his sisters wouldn't leave him alone; home was the place where he couldn't get six minutes of solitude. That was his favorite thing. If people left him alone, there was nothing to worry about. He really didn't care what happened too much so long as he got his alone time. Call him an introvert; you'd be right.

Finally, something pulled up the curb. Unfortunately, it wasn't a bus. His eyes widened as he stared at the car before him; it was a van, it was black, the windows were tinted as far as dark as they could possibly be. It was bad enough that there was a van like this one so close to him; having it right in front of him at a bus stop—of all places—wasn't much better.

"Need a lift, kid?" asked a rather high-pitched voice, full of mock.

"N-no thanks," replied James.

The man inside of the car snickered. The boy was obviously nervous, and he didn't seem too thrilled to be spoken to, at all. "I insist."

"Look, I'm just waiting f-for the bus, so leave me," James answered nervously, halfway through his sentence he found a gun pointed at him, and his eyes widened a little. "A-alone?"

"How 'bout now?"

James blinked as he stared at the figure in the car. The gun barrel was just barely past the window, its metallic shine reflecting the light from a streetlamp right into James' eyes. "Please, j-just… put… the g-gun… down…"

"Mmm… not gonna happen," the clownish voice from behind the window answered. "Now ho**p** in before I get bore**d** and shoo'cha."

Taking a deep breath, the adolescent obeyed, reaching for the door and pulling it open, sliding in without looking at his captor. He didn't dare look, especially not when his captor was obviously psychotic. Sitting shotgun, the boy held his backpack close to his lap.

"Why so serious?" chirped the captor as the door closed. Not long after, he slammed on the gas.

"C-can I c-call my mother?"

"Nervous, uh, aren'**t**'cha?"

Gulping, slightly, James hoped, silently, for an answer. He had reasons for wanting to call his mother, even if he did wish that she would leave him alone when she saw him. For one, his father had left them a long time ago. The bastard had been cheating on his mother for a year—he even tried to take James with him. James was pleased when the courts gave his mother custody, but he wasn't pleased when he realized how much responsibility he would have to take on. Fifteen and he was already working whenever he wasn't studying. That was why he needed his alone time. If he didn't get his down time, all the time he spent in Wal-Mart and at school would drive him insane.

Secondly, his two little sisters were annoying as could be; they wouldn't leave him alone. As soon as he walked in through the front door, he would find himself tackled by the two little demons. One of them would pull on his hair while the other stayed glued to his ankles. They were so affectionate that they drove James half to madness.

"She'll fin**d** out later, uh," the man laughed lightly.

Deciding not to press the matter, James remained quiet. What was he supposed to do? This guy was armed. He was dangerous. Meanwhile, James had absolutely nothing to threaten the man with. All he could do was stand in place and hope that somebody would rescue him. Batman? No, no, he wasn't going to waste his time helping some kid like James. Kids at his school had spent some time bragging about getting to meet the legendary bat, but James just couldn't even fake interest.

So, for the rest of the time, James remained as silent as he could possibly be. Whenever the captor would utter a question, James would ignore it until he heard the dissatisfied grunts of the clown-faced man. Joker. That had to be the kidnapper. He was the one who separated James from his sisters and mother. Even the slightest glimmer of light caught over the captor's face; James struggled to avert his gaze from those scars. What the hell were those doing on his face? James had heard that the Joker had a Glasgow smile, permanently etched into his features, but he didn't expect to be close enough to really see it.

"Someone's awful quie**t**."

James wasn't sure if he was meant to respond; all he knew is that he was gripping his backpack as if it would save his life, and he was in a car with someone who had so callously murdered many people. What the hell was he supposed to do?

"Scared?" laughed the captor.

Wincing slightly, James turned his head so that he was staring out the window. The last thing he wanted was a conversation with a madman. He especially didn't want a conversation with a madman while they were in a moving vehicle. "N-not really thrilled…"

The Joker chuckled as he turned the steering wheel. _At the very least_, James thought to himself, _I'm not dead yet_.

O0O

After the ride that felt like several hours, but was, in actuality, no more than ten, James found himself with a gun pressed to his left temple, and the man holding it smiling lightly. "Out of the car; don't try anything _funny_."

James, being a self-proclaimed coward, stepped out of the car, still clutching his backpack closely to himself. He was shaking slightly, and he turned his eyes to try and get a grip on what was going on, or where he was. He was so nervous he doubted that he would remember anything more than gripping his backpack close to his chest.

"Atatata," the Joker scolded mockingly, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "_Think_ing about running, uh, away, isn't going to hel_p_ you."

The two began to walk into a building that smelled of mold and rotting pork. James crinkled his nose at the smell, and yet The Joker merely continued to march on, hand on the boy's shoulder in an unassuring manner. If it was meant to calm James down, it wasn't working. Then again, this guy was known for being a psychopath. It probably was meant to make him more nervous.

The two approached a door, and James continued to squeeze onto that backpack for dear life. Was he going to be shoved in—was that a _meat_ locker? "Well, nice meeting you," the man laughed as he opened the door, extending an arm with bruising force that shoved James into the locker. "Oh, and I'll be taking that."

"Wait-!" James shouted as the man grabbed his backpack and pulled it away.

Oh right. He had a cell phone in there. As the door slammed shut, threatening to rip off his fingers as it flew shut, James felt like he could scream. However, instead, he just stared at the door, speechless.

_Well shit._


	2. Where's James?

A/N - Wow. Same day. That's a new record in speediness for me. ;D Anywho, this chapter's a little low on action, but you get to meet James's mother and one of the "annoying" sisters! TEEHEE! *runs around all giddy and such and such*

**O0O0O**

"Mommy," Sarah mumbled, rubbing her wrist against her blue eyes. "Where's James?"

"Dead, when he gets back here," the mother answered in frustration. Where was James? Why was he so late? He should have been back about an hour ago, and yet he wasn't. She held a phone in her hand, redialing the same number, again, and again, and again. Nothing happened. Each time she called, the phone would inevitably end on voicemail until she was sure his phone had died.

"Is he going to leave like Daddy?" The girl said this as she peered up from behind her long black bangs—they would need to be trimmed soon. Rachel swore, if her kids kept neglecting to brush their hair like this, she would have their heads shaved the next time that they went to the barber.

Of course, Rachel wasn't happy to hear such a suggestion from her seven-year-old girl. "No," she answered, "of course not. Sarah, go get Rebecca and yourself ready for bed; brush your teeth and make sure your backpacks are ready for school in the morning. Ok?"

"Ok."

O0O

Who knew that meat lockers could be so damned freezing? Had James been truly naïve, he would have tried pounding on the door and begging to be released; instead he focused on not freezing to death. He found a corner, and he took off his jacket. The old brown sweatshirt was void of a hood, and so he needed to make sure his head was covered. Most body heat would head straight out the top of James' head if he wasn't careful. This seemed like a decent idea to the boy.

Besides the jacket, all he was wearing was a black t-shirt and jeans. This wasn't exactly comfortable, so he crossed his arms as he huddled beneath his sweatshirt, using it to insolate himself, holding in as much heat as he could. He pulled his legs up to his chest and shivered.

O0O

"Cell phone, uh, math boo_k_, noteboo_k_, pl_a_nner," mumbled The Joker as he rooted through the backpack, carelessly tossing the items of little interest behind him. He wasn't intending on giving the boy a phone call anyway. Why should he bother keeping his phone in tact? All the while, the phone continued to ring several times until the clown-faced criminal turned a gun to it and shot the base of the cell phone clean off. Content with this, he turned back to his work and proceeded to root through his captive's bag.

"Half a sandwich," he muttered in disgust, holding the smashed food up in its baggie, staring for only a moment before he just threw it back into the pile all of the other contents of this bag were ending up in. "A bottle of coke…"

"And _Gone with the wind_," finished the Joker, throwing the last of the backpack's contents against the wall carelessly. "Boring kid."

He grinned, wolfishly, and he stood up from his chair, the wood scraping against the ground in protest as he moved it back. "Perfect."

O0O

"I'm gonna die," James muttered, shivering in the cold. "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

His forehead sank forward until it made contact with his knees. "I am going to die…"

He was fairly sure that his captor had never locked the door on him or anything. On one hand, it seemed easy enough for him to just get up and walk right out. On the other hand, he was in the middle of a freezer, shivering from the lack of heat, his jacket being the only thing he had to insolate him—it was doing a poor job of that.

O0O

"Rebecca! Lights out!" Rachel called, sighing as she turned to face herself in the mirror. James was late; hopefully not in any trouble. Perhaps he went to the movies with a friend, or a girl. Maybe he had run away from home. Rachel frowned at this thought. Maybe he was hurt. She could have screamed at the thought. "Stop it. He's fine; maybe he's staying at a friend's house and forgot to call."

O0O

_Knock knock knock._

"W-Who's th-th-there?" James muttered, teeth chattering in the cold.

"Just little ol' me!" The door flew open, revealing a smiling clown. In his hand, bundled up, was a small coil of rope. In his other hand, he was holding something that James couldn't make out from his position on the floor. He stared at the hand nervously, not moving from his huddled position. "Time to go!"

O0O0O

A/N - Next chapter is not for the squeamish. In all chapters involving torture, or gore, or whatever, I'll put a little letter in paranthesis. So, for instance, psychological torture versus gorey torture:

Chapter three - (Psy)

Chapter three - (G)

And, violence would just be anything with a (V).

The next chapter is going to be isolated so others don't miss everything just for being squeemish, but I'll try not to disrupt the flow if I can. Those of you sickos (like me) who like to read the gorey, twisted torture chapters can look out for the little warnings I've placed.


	3. Wicked made a booboo

A/N - So... I just read the script to The Dark Knight. Bad news... Apparently Gordon's kid is named James. O_O WTF? Curse mah lousy memory... Anywho, I'll not be changing the name, as Gordon... likely will not be anything besides mentioned in this. James won't be in this at all, since this is sort of... In magical fanfiction land? So bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.

I swear, I need a new brain. Any volunteers?


	4. Living Nightmare GV

Li'l A/N - So yeah, this will be mildly sadistic. ^^ Not as bad as some of the things I've thought up, but it's still pretty sadistic.

I think I may have forgotten to say what time it is, but some people might figure it out over the next chapter or two. So, for those of you who don't, read the bottom. ^^

**O0O0O**

Being lead from the freezer, James found himself in the unforgiving clutches of The Joker. He had been yelled at to follow by a very angry Joker. Or did he just seem angry? James wasn't about to test that out, he stood up, not bothering to reach back for his jacket as he scurried along with the Joker.

"Lookin' forward to i**t**?" The Joker mocked. James obviously didn't know what it meant; was he… maybe… going to hurt him?

Of course he was. James just hadn't confirmed it yet. So, the boy was lead into a room, brightly lit with florescent lights. They burned his eyes; they made him squint in a futile attempt to keep from damaging his vision. The captor motioned to a chair, dead center of the room. "Well?"

Did he _want _to obey? Want to or not, it's what he did. He stepped to the center of the room, nervously sitting in the chair, pressing his thumbs to the center of his forefingers to keep himself from whimpering. He didn't have to know what was happening to be scared. In fact, not knowing made it even worse.

"You look a little nervou_s_," the Joker laughed, stepping closer. He knelt slightly, so that he was eye-level with his captive. "Why's that?"

James didn't know if he should answer or not, so he chose to stay silent, shrugging slightly. What was he supposed to do? Say he was worried that the Joker was taking time out of his day just to torture James?

"_Answer_," he commanded.

James shook his head, only to find a gloved hand grasp his chin, holding it in place. "I ask you a question, you answer. Now let's try again. Why're ya nervous?"

"I…"

"You…?"

"M-my mother and sister-," James began to speak, however, he was cut off by the Joker, who was scolding him as if he were a child who had done something wrong.

"Atatata! 'I my mother and sister'?" mocked The Joker. "Oh well. Let's get started."

The elder stood, not even turning to look at James as he walked out of the room, leaving James for a moment to wonder what was about to take place. Isolation. The room reeked of isolation. No one would hear him, even if he was in the city. Why were they in the city anyways? You'd think, since the man kept his face—that was his face, right?—hidden under makeup, that he would be sort of conspicuous—makeup isn't all that good for hiding your identity.

A minute later, or, it must have been a minute later, the man returned with a rather large briefcase. He grinned, even through the makeup that permanently set his demeanour into that of a demented clown, and the scars that etched a permanent Glasgow smile upon his features. He strode over to the boy, who was sitting nervously in the chair.

"Wanna play a game?" asked the elder. James stared, confused at the man, who rolled his eyes and seemed to pull a second chair from no where, and sat down in it without a care in the world. "I got three jar**s** in this case over here." He patted the case to illustrate. "Two of them have some kind of acid I can't _begin_ to pronounce in them. One has water. We're gonna play a _guessin__**g**_, uh, game."

James stared in disbelief. He was incredulous; this guy was joking, right? Hopefully someone would come out with a camera and tell them it was all a bad joke. Right? As James went through this little stroll of thought, the Joker was opening the case, and laid out the three jars across the surface—after closing it, of course.

"So? Which one has water?"

James shook his head in disbelief. This was a joke. It was all a bad joke. That had to be right; this guy had threatened him with a fake gun, brought him to a McDonalds or something, shoved him in the freezer and then come out with these three jars of lemon juice. Right? And someone would come out and tell them it was one of those dumb prank-TV shows.

"Which one?" he asked, lowering his voice dangerously.

"Th-the one on the left?" tried James, blinking nervously. Come on! He was kidding! This had to be a joke! Nothing about this could be serious!

The man grinned as he reached out, grabbing James's wrist. With his other hand, he flipped the lid off of the jar, and stuck the unfortunate victim's hand into the jar. Right before his very eyes, James saw his own hand, the flesh, simply dissolving.

"AAAAAAAAAGH!" screamed James, kicking his legs and yanking his hand to no avail. The criminal holding his hand had a firm grip, and he didn't put much effort into holding the jar and hand of the boy in one place. James had little muscle mass to help him overpower the sadistic clown. The sadistic clown didn't need muscle to hold down a scrawny kid like James. All throughout the time, he was grinning. "Get it **out**! Get it _**out**_!"

"Oh, a little water can't be _that_ bad!" laughed The Joker.

"!"

Laughing slightly, the man leaned forward, his face close to the captive's. "Shhhhh. Just take i_t_, huh, luh-like a man."

However, James didn't hear. He was too busy screaming as he felt his muscles fade from existence, soaking into the acid and being melted clean off. The flesh on his right hand had been completely destroyed, the muscle showing and the once-clear liquid becoming filled with a gruesome shade of red. Blood and acid mingled in the jar, sizzling slightly. His screams began to die down, lowering to sobs and whimpers as he clenched his jaw.

"Shhhh," the Joker quieted James, mockingly. He grinned as he did, taking a sadistic satisfaction in the mutilation of the boy's hand. "You have, uh, _had_ two hands; remember?"

"Euwah?" James mumbled, peering up. He was crying, alright? That was like a torture in itself too… His eyes burned, though not as intensely as his hand, which the manic clown finally removed from the acid, pulling a container of baking soda out of nowhere, seemingly, and pouring it over the boy's raw and destroyed hand. The boy's hand began to sizzle once more, burning worse than any mis-placed frying pan had ever burned the boy's hand.

"Now," the man said, "which one has water?"

James stared at the jars, unable to see any difference between them. They were clear, and they were deadly. He had seen by the fact that his hand was nothing more than a skeleton at this point. Panting, breathing heavily, he whimpered at the possibility of none of them being water. "Neither," James murmured.

"You're _no_ fun," Joker laughed. "Pick, ah, or I'll pick _for_ you."

"N-neither," James answered again.

"Wanna try _both_?"

"The middle," James changed quickly, wincing. The man's jeering smile didn't help at all. Another scream erupted from the boy's lungs behind the door.

**O0O0O**

**The Time and Place - **Well, this is a few months or so after The Dark Knight; Joker escaped from the asylum...  
AGAIN. ;D


	5. Behind the Smoke and Makeup

A/N - Again, I dun own Dark Knight. I own a slip of paper saying, "Dark Knight!" I own this story, I guess. All that I don't own sofar is the Joker and his twisted ways. Awwwww. =(

"Mom, did James come home yet?" asked the brown-eyed girl as she walked in through the door. Where had James been last night anyways? She had no idea. Behind her, trailing closely, yet distracted, was Sarah.

"No, I haven't seen him," Rachel sighed. "I can't reach him either." It would be a lost cause lying to these two; they'd been lied to enough, and they didn't need their mother lying about something so important. White lie or not, it wasn't something she would hide from her children.

"Mom, there's an envelope for you."

"From who?"

"Daddy."

"Throw it away," Rachel sighed. "I want nothing to do with that man."

"Can I look at it?" Rebecca asked, turning to her sister excitedly. Whether or not her dad

had been a liar, or a cheater, or a back-stabbing son-of-a-bitch, Rebecca only had fond memories of the man to lead her way. "Please?"

"Fine." Rachel's answer was half-hearted; she could care less what happened with Mike unless he had something that could help them. Then again, she might want to call him to see if he had any clue where James had gone. During her musing, the children began to tear away at the packaging, and they frowned at what they saw: a stack of photographs.

"Mommy?" Rebecca whimpered. "Y-you…"

"What is it?" Rachel snapped, turning to her children to see the look of terror in their eyes. "What is it?"

"It's… about James."

O0O0O

James was lying on the floor; he had no where to go, even if he was crazy enough to try and escape. The Joker had just entered the room through the door; James had been left in the same room where his hands had been melted off. Both of them were raw and burnt to cauterize the wounds.

"Why?" James mumbled weakly.

"Why what?"

"Why did you kidnap me of all people?" the boy snapped.

"Oh, I assure you it's nothing, ah, personal. Just have some scores to settle with an old… aquaintance of mine. I'm sure you're familiar with Mike Schurtz?"

"What do I have to do with any of this?" Every word that James muttered was little more than a hiss. Whatever he said, whatever he was going to say, it all came out quietly, seeing as he had screamed until his throat went raw a few hours earlier.

The man rolled his eyes boredly as he continued to explain. After all, it would make for some quite interesting effects from the boy. If he didn't expect a rise out of the boy, he wouldn't bother saying anything. "He's your daddy, right?"

James clenched his jaw, looking away from the demented clown. "Sort of."

"Close enough," the Joker declared. "Y'see, ol' Batsy left me out of luck, financially, after his little attempt at keeping me locked up. My assets are gone. Now, Mike owes me money. You're his kid. This makes sense to you, right?"

"It's not gonna work," James mumbled. "You're wasting your time."

"Oh?"

"Last time I saw him was in court. He's a lying douche," James mumbled, "nearly killed my mom, stole money from her, tried to take me with him."

"My point exactly."

"What?"

"Tried to take you with him," the Joker repeated. "Even a madman can put two and two together."

"The last thing I said to him was 'go to Hell, Jackass.' Why the fuck would he _want_ to see me?"

"Ever get a letter from him?"

"Once."

"What'd you do with it?"

"Threw it... out."

"That's how I found you."

"A year later?"

The madman smiled warmly. Of course, anything warm from this man was either sarcastic or just plain crazy. Even James could see that, clear as crystal. "Nope. Found the ones your mommy threw out too."

James looked confused; he only remembered getting one letter which he threw out. How could this guy have gotten more? So was he just going to be a hostage until his father said otherwise? Would he actually have to see his father again? Confusion grew upon the features of the adolescent. How was he supposed to decide which was worse: death at the hands of a sadistic clown, or meeting up with his father once more?

It seemed like a pretty even deal to James.


	6. What I Want

OoOoO

A/N – So it turns out I've reached a new level of stupid/forgetful and named James's mother Rachel. -.- At least no one actually said her name. As of now, her new name is… *picks a random name from a hat* Elaine.

GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!

OoO

Panic swept over the woman's household. This was a new level of awful. Somehow, from her ex-husband's return address, she had gotten this package filled with the disturbing pictures that made Elaine want to vomit. As far as she was concerned, the only thing she could do was to actually call her husband on the phone. This wasn't something Elaine ever wanted to do again. She bit her lip as she clicked through the numbers on her cell phone.

"Mike?" asked Elaine the moment she heard the beeping end. Panic still encompassed her voice—she wasn't trying to hide it. "Mike, this is Elaine-!"

"Elaine?" asked the voice on the opposite end. "Didn't think you'd call me again."

"Mike, this is serious," the woman stated seriously.

"What's going on?"

"It's about James."

The woman felt the worry put creases into her features—she knew she wouldn't come out of this without a few more silver-colored hairs outlining her already graying mop of hair. She no longer considered herself beautiful, like she had several years ago. The sobs she made leaked out into the phone even as she spoke.

"What happened?"

Elaine blinked away a few tears, and then she mumbled her answer. "We got a letter from you! Of… of James. And of his hands. They… they… they looked like they were melted off in acid—they were skeletons, Mike!"

"What?!"

"Don't you have any idea what's going on?" Elaine sobbed, unable to mask the desperation. "I wouldn't have called you if I wasn't serious, now please, just be serious!"

The clicking of a phone didn't make Elaine feel at ease. Rather, the clicking of the phone made Elaine scream with frustration. She would have to pick up her children from school, but she was in no condition to do anything at this moment. So much to do, so much to be done, and so much chaos to ruin the schedule she had planned. What the hell had happened?

OoO

He had been called by his former spouse, but he wasn't sure what to do. The man closed his cell phone and began to pace around his apartment. The man's brow crinkled in frustration; he knew who must have been responsible. No, he didn't knew, but he had a pretty good guess. "That son of a bitch."

One thing to do: get on his boots and get moving.

OoO

Dark. Just like the night James had been kidnapped, it was dark. The boy was only taking a guess, seeing as there weren't any windows in the room he was in. Man, if the city council only got their hands on this dilapidated building…

The dark-haired boy had been left alone in this room, but he wasn't too nervous right now. After all, every second he was alone he wasn't anywhere near that madman.

OoO

A figure stood beneath a willow tree in the park, wearing his overcoat, glancing around cautiously every several seconds. He was waiting for someone clearly, and his dark eyes scanned over the moonlit park. It was chilly out, the man just didn't care. He had more important things on his mind—among them what had happened to his son that got his wife to call him.

"If you're out there and you're keeping me waiting, I swear I'll-!" the man began his threat, but he was cut off too quickly.

"Ah, lighten up," said the Joker. "It's not like anything's happening right, uh, now."

Pausing for a moment, Mike growled, "What do you mean?"

"Ya won't, ah, _need_ to find out if ya do what, ah, I say," the man answered mockingly, smiling even without the Glasgow smile.

"I'm not playing games, freak."

"No one ever said anything about a game!" childishly exclaimed the mad clown. "Less you want your kid to get hurt it's dead serious."

"What the hell did you do with him?"

The demented clown giggled. "You'll find out after ya pay me."

"You son of a bitch," growled Mike, stepping forward and raising his fist like he was going to punch the man in the jaw. The man threw his hands up, however, stepping back. "Atatatata! Let's not be hasty. I could kill him when I get back for all you know."

Mike hesitated, he paused, he wanted to continue his punch but he placed his fist back into his pocket, nails digging into his palm. "What do you want?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the man laughed. "All of my assets were seized by the good ol', ah, state! You're gonna gimme, ah, what you owe me."

"Twenty bucks from a poker game ten years ago?"

"I like to think it accumulated some interest."

"Twenty-two bucks from a poker game ten years ago?"

"About a hundred times that plus seven hundred and eighty more."

Mike stared at the man. "You don't honestly think I have that kind of money to just give away at random."

"Nope, but you're gonna have to come up with something quick before I get bored of your, ah, kid."

The man smiled and turned, beginning to walk away. He didn't look back until he stepped to the curb of the street, turning his head and saying, "Hasn't happened yet, unfortunately for him."

**A/N **– Torture in the next chapter. Huzzah.


	7. AN: Hiatus

I'm on Hiatus for this story, as I have had a major case of writer's block. Sorry for the inconvenience.


	8. Adding Injury to Insult GV

A/N: I'm **BACK**, baby. And crazier than ever. I finally found some muse, and I know how I want this to play out. Yes there IS torture in this chapter.

**OoOoOoO**

It amazed James that he could get so nervous because of footsteps—probably from one of the nearby buildings. The boy frowned, taking a deep breath. Hopefully this wouldn't develop into something worse than it already was. Maybe the next time he had seen the Joker he would be released.

Wishful thinking.

The clown-faced criminal entered with a frown on his face. At the very least, when things didn't happen as quickly as he wanted—IE, just a half an hour ago—he could take out the frustration on this kid. He didn't bother to give James any warning as he stepped forward with a knife in his hand and bent over by the boy.

"What's going on-," James tried, only to be shushed by the Joker.

"Shushushushush," he quieted James mockingly, twirling the knife lazily in his fingers. "Wanna know how I got these scars?"

James shook his head no, which made the Joker perk an eyebrow. Oh really now? Well, he was going to tell a story anyways. "Of course ya do. Y'know, I had a little sister once. Girl got herself into all sorts of trouble. Thought, ah, everything would turn out alright, ah, for her because she was pretty. Now my sister got, ah, in with people bigger and _meaner _than her. One day, she's, uh, on her way home from school, and her friend goes _crazy_! Now, I'm not far behind. I see her shaking and I'm not happy about that. So I punch the guy square in the jaw, and he doesn't like that. Not. At. _All._ He pushes me to the ground, growling like a dog, and he puts a knife in my mouth. 'Wipe that smile off your face!' he yells. _Then_, ah, he starts grinning. 'Or maybe I'll put it back on for ya.' So he takes the knife, and he tears open my mouth, like this," the man explained casually, making his own voices for the characters that didn't actually exist.

"Anyways," the man giggled, "let's get started."

James didn't have to feel the knife against his arm to know what was coming; blood, pain, carnage. Sure enough, the blade sunk into his arm, causing him to moan in pain. He started shaking, even though this probably helped the blade hack through his flesh. The man began to hack away at the boy's arm, flaying flesh from bone, leaving the muscles exposed. The man grinned as he finished his work with one arm; that just meant he had to repeat the process with the other. "Roll over."

James was humiliated listening to the man, but this was no time for stupid things like pride. He turned over, his arm, torn apart, meeting with the cool ground. The thing was, it actually helped to soothe the sensation of having flesh cut straight through. The floor was cool, even with the warm blood oozing out of the boy's open injuries.

However, any sense of comfort faded away as the Joker sunk his blade into the arm of the boy once again, tearing through the flesh and laughing as he did it. The pieces of flesh fell to the ground as he carved a manner of shapes out of the boy: the letter J, squares, circles, even a bizarre squiggly line. As he completed each shape, the flesh fell to the ground, the boy continued to sob as each slice was made.

"Shhhh…" The man grinned. Sadism was evident in both of his beady little eyes, he continued to slice off the remainder of the boy's flesh all he had was a few pieces covering his skin. To James, the ordeal had been like a hundred knee-scrapings or a hundred friction-burns, over, and over, and over. Knifes were more painful that one would think.

"I'll be right back. Don't. Move." The man, with that, left the room, leaving James on the ground. After what felt like only seconds of peace, the boy heard the door creak open, the Joker on the other side, holding a duffel bag. What was in the bag, well, James didn't want to know.

"This is gonna be, ah, _fun_."

Plopping the bag down beside James, the man grinned and reached into it, first pulling out a bottle of vinegar. James had no idea what that was for, until the man started to open it. That's right. James had open wounds. He started to shake and whimper in anticipation, his mind imagining what the acidic substance could do to his arms.

What James didn't realize, however, was that he had been mumbling the entire time. He had been mumbling his own thoughts:

_Oh, God, no!_

_Stop…. Stop…._

_Someone help me…._

_Kill me._

The Joker paused, a lopsided grin smeared across his scarred, painted continence. "Now why would I do _tha__**t**_?"

James's eyes shot open as the stinging began; he hadn't been able to see the bottle being raised it had happened so fast. It was intense. Not as bad as the acid in the jars, but definitely awful. He wouldn't wish this against anyone. Especially not with the nails-on-a-chalkboard laughter this man released with every scream and every whimper James let out. The stinging began to ebb away when the vinegar was gone, but a throbbing took its place. James had screamed his throat raw, and was unable to cry out at this point.

"So? How'd it feel?"

James didn't have the energy to answer. Fact of the matter was, blood had been oozing out of him. At this point, lightheadedness replaced the pain. Throbbing overtook his body, he couldn't feel the pain, but he could certainly feel something. The sensation was a strange one. Was this what death felt like? James didn't answer, continued to not answer, as the man prodded him with a raised eyebrow. "What? C'mon, I'm not done havin' fun yet."

James barely heard the sentence, and what he did hear was gargled and mashed together. James was losing consciousness. The last thing he heard before he slipped out of consciousness was the sound of a deep sigh.

Joker stared down at the kid, an eyebrow perked. What was it with kids these days? And why the hell was MIKE'S son so pain intolerant? Mike, classical tough guy, and his kid was just some momma's boy. Rolling his eyes, Joker set to work, lighting a match and setting the end of a newspaper on fire. Oh, James would feel this in the morning. _Or his money back._


	9. Trust is Quite Impossible

Crudely cauterized wounds, and pain, the feel of flesh that had been seared until it was like the crispy skin of a Christmas Turkey. That was what James felt. He let out a weak groan, and rolled over from his side onto his back. His left arm was numb, but it was better than sore. Definitely better. James felt slight relief at the fact that he was actually alone.

That was good.

Alone was better than around people.

Footsteps.

Not a good sign.

OoO

James didn't know what happened just ten minutes ago.

OoO

"Ah, Mike-ol' buddy!"

"_Can it_," Mike growled, lifting up a small briefcase, the kind you might see a lawyer or conman—er, businessman—carry. It was too dark to tell what color it was, or whether or not it was made of leather or just plain old synthetic fibers, but ah, details, details! The contents were all that really mattered. Mothers always said it was the inside that counts. "Don't ask where I got it."

The Joker smiled darkly. He didn't need to ask, Mike was too obvious. The money was _not_ legit, obviously, given that this was Mike. He had the guilt written all over his face. Joker chuckled. "What, ah, ya give u_p_ on havin' _fun_?"

Mike didn't answer the question, stepping forward. "I'm not giving this to you until I have my kid back."

"Wha', that little, ah, wimp?"

Mike narrowed his eyes, though it was still way too dark to see anything. "I don't trust you."

"Aw, why not?" Joker asked, faux sorrow flooding his eyes and voice. Mike knew better. Joker straightened out, then gave a nod. "Wait here."

OoO

"Time to go, Jamsey-boi!"

OoO

But this time, James wasn't sure if he felt relief when he was lead out of the building, down the street, and towards a park, or disgust. He stumbled almost every step, and was practically dragged along by the madman who had…

Bile rose in his throat and he pushed the thoughts from his mind.

Now _there_ was something worse.

"Mike," he whispered.

OoO

Everything happened too quickly for James's dehydrated, battered mind to comprehend. He was ushered into a car, there was a brief exchanging of words, and he saw Mike raise a gun from the pocket of his overcoat, and angrily chuck it to the side before he stormed into the car.

James had been half-asleep by the time his father actually got in the driver's seat and turned the keys in the ignition.

"James."

He turned his head away. Mike frowned. "You know, you didn't have to stay with your mother; you could have come with me."

A strange gurgled sound came from his son. He looked to the side, and shook his head. He had to take James to a hospital, and quick.

"I'm sorry."

"Bull," James rasped, leaning his head against the window, the cool vibrations from the rotating tires, the pumping engine, and even the wind generated from the speed his father was driving soothing his weary mind. His eyes blinked shut, and for a while, they stayed that way. He felt sleep creep up on him.

_That sounds nice_, James thought.

OoO

When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed, sitting in a chair beside him. A moment passed before his father seemed to sense his being awake, and turned his head to face his son. "James, I need you to listen."

James barely heard the sentence. He was too focused on taking the man's appearance in. James knew he looked like his father from pictures he had seen. His father's face was lightly weathered and aged, and his nose bulged slightly from a break he had when he was younger. James didn't have that bulge. His eyes were the exact same shape as James, and the exact same color. Brown. Deep, dark-chocolate brown. His hair was slightly long, falling around his neck but neatly slicked back. His hair was grayed and weathered, just like his face.

He knew he didn't want to let go of what his dad looked like… this way he could punch him later on. If he saw his father, he knew he would punch him. James entertained himself with that thought for years—until his hands were lost to that acid.

"The doc says you'll live," he began, "and your hands can be replaced with prosthetics. There's gonna be complications."

James didn't say anything.

"You're gonna stay with me til your hands are better," Mike continued, voice cracking very lightly when he reached the word, "me."

James narrowed his eyes.

"Look, James, I know you hate me, but I talked to Elaine, and she agrees! She doesn't want the girls… Rebecca and… ah," Mike scratched his head.

"Sarah," James finished.

"Sarah, yeah," Mike continued, lowering his hand to his side. "She doesn't want them to know that you've been hurt—or, well, she doesn't want them to see your hands or anything."

"I get it."

"You know I'm sorry," Mike mumbled. He wasn't sure how to go about this; he'd done worse things than have an affair before. Why was it so hard to apologize for this? Because it was his son, maybe. "Look, ah, how can I make it up to you? Anything you ever wanted?"

"Go away," James mumbled, eyes flickering to meet his father's and then back towards the ceiling.

"Damn it, James, why do you have to be so stubborn?"

James gritted his teeth, but he didn't say anything. Not yet. He was determined not to say anything else to his father.

"You're just like your," Mike began, before James snapped his head to the side.

"Mother?"

"Father," Mike finished, turning his head away.

This had to be a joke. To James, yeah, this had to be some joke. Forced into being with a man who he knew he would never do anything but despise. Forced into knowing more about that twisted clown than anyone would ever want to know. Forced into therapy, mental and physical, and familial problems he never thought he would have to deal with, and he didn't know who to blame anymore! The Joker? For kidnapping him? His father? For running into the Joker beforehand? His mother? For not being able to lend him the car that one night?

Himself? For having such terrible luck?

Himself? For being such a coward?

James shut his eyes tight and turned his head to the wall, not fighting the tears that escaped his eyes and dripped down the side of his face, stinging a small scrape that had been left.

Everyone who should have been able to help him but didn't?

James let out a strange, strangled sob.

Mike reached out to put a hand on his son's shoulder, but let it hover over his shoulder. The last thing the kid would want was to be touched by his old man. Especially when he hated his old man.

"James," Mike started, quietly, "You don't know how sorry I am."

_Me too_, James thought, biting his lower lip.

OoO

Elsewhere, the Joker smiled as he sorted through the briefcase.

"Good ol' Mikey," he chanted to himself, flipping through a wad of fifty-dollar bills. Oh were they ever stolen. "I, ah, knew you weren't _legit_."

OoO

Months passed.

James had begun to see his father as less of an enemy.

But trust, for James, was impossible.

Trust was very impossible.


End file.
